


Six Nights, Seven Days

by MykEsprit



Series: Dramione Delectables [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance, Twenty Years Later, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: The last place Draco expected to run into Hermione Granger was on a cruise ship in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.  Dramione.  One-shot.  Written for the "20 Years Later" Fest.





	Six Nights, Seven Days

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for the “20 Years Later” Fest hosted by Dramione FanFiction Forum!  
> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

“Where is our yacht?” asked Draco.  “Is it behind that floating cesspool of _Salmonella_?”

They stood in the shadow of a large cruise liner, its gangways loaded with passengers eager to board.  Young children ran around the terminal, their parents rushing close behind and yelling at them to stop before they fall in the water.  Couples dotted the waiting area; honeymooners, most likely, if their amorous displays were any indication.

“We didn’t book a yacht,” said Blaise, on his right.  “This is it.”

Draco’s lips curled in disgust.  “I beg your fucking pardon?”

“ _Poseidon’s Sea Dream_ ,” said Theo, from Draco’s left side.  He waved his arm over the length of the buoyant monstrosity.  “Six nights, seven days on the Caribbean Sea.”

“This,” sneered Draco, “is not what I had in mind when you said we would be spending a week on a luxurious boat.”

From the edges of his vision, he saw his friends share a hesitant glance. 

“Listen, Draco, as much fun as it would be to spend several days on the high seas with just the two of you for company,” said Blaise, his eyes rolling heavenward, “I’d like to meet some new people.  It’s my first trip since the divorce, so don’t give me a hard time about wanting to be around beautiful women in tiny bikinis.”

“And, with the baby on the way, _I’d_ like to do more than just lie about on the deck of a yacht, in my last days of freedom,” said Theo.  “Once that baby’s born, Daph’s not going to let me out of the house until it receives its Hogwarts letter.  There are a lot of activities on the agenda for this trip, and we’re doing _every single one_.”

Several unkind thoughts flew through Draco’s mind, but he refrained from voicing them.  They never complained when it was his turn to pick the destination for their annual trip.  Last year, he made them climb Mount Kilimanjaro – with absolutely no training nor preparation.

He sighed as his eyes traveled up the twelve-deck ship.  The air buzzed with excitement as thousands of people waited to start their vacations.

“Six nights, seven days?” asked Draco. 

His friends nodded.  Draco stifled a groan and picked up his valise.  He walked ahead of them to board the ship, studiously ignoring the ridiculous, enthusiastic smiles that grew on their faces.

~’~o~’~

The atrium was a circular space, lined with faux wooden panels and decorated with an oversized chandelier.  Blue geometric carpet stopped short at the so-called grand staircase, which gleamed in the harsh, white light.  Large frames hung on the walls, depicting the ship’s Grecian namesake in various poses – one where he’s thrusting his long, pointy trident in the air, another in which he’s funneling ships down to the ocean’s depths.

Draco glared at the painting of Poseidon sunbathing on an outcropping, like dried fish at an open market.

“I know,” said Theo, who had been scrutinizing his face since they stepped onboard.  “It’s tacky, but I promise I got us the best suite on the ship.  Once you see your room, you won’t even remember this atrocity of the senses.”

Draco leveled him with a skeptical stare and followed Jacobson, their butler for the duration of their trip, up to their cabin.

When they stepped off the lift at their level, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.  The hallway was wide enough for two carriages, and the floor was a dark, varnished wood.  The walls – sans Poseidon – were painted an elegant white to show off the minimalist art that hung unobtrusively. 

There were two sets of double doors in their secluded section of the deck.  Two burly, dark-suited men flanked the one on the left; Jacobson led Draco, Theo, and Blaise to the doors on the right.

“Welcome, sirs, to your penthouse suite,” said Jacobson.  He showed them around to their spacious living room, with a flat-screen television, a wet bar, and large, private balcony.  To the right was a dining room with a ten-seater table and access to a full-sized kitchen, where their private chef would be preparing meals at their request.  To the left of the living room was a short hallway that led to the master bedroom, while a corkscrew staircase led to two equally opulent bedrooms on the second floor.

“You take the master, Draco,” said Blaise.  “If I have my way, I won’t be using my bedroom much on this trip.  Not for sleeping, anyway.”

Theo nodded, as well; Draco headed to the master suite and started unpacking. 

He put away all his personal effects by hand rather than take the chance of Muggle attendants happening upon any of his magical paraphernalia.  His wand, however, would stay close to him always, in the secret pocket he had tailored to his clothes made exclusively for trips to the Muggle world.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted his progress, and he opened it to find Blaise and Theo already dressed in their board shorts, beach towels hanging over their necks.

“Wave pool time!” said Theo, as he bounded into the room.

“For fuck’s sake, Nott, the ship hasn’t even left the port,” he said.

Theo froze in the middle of the room and fixed him with a stony glare.  “Every.  Single.  Activity.  Draco,” he said.  “My child – who I am looking forward to meeting, and who I already love very, very much – is a monster that’s going to steal my youth.  I need to check as many things off the bucket list before it takes over my life.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Theo’s trademark dramatics.  “You’re turning forty soon.  Youth passed you by decades ago.  This baby is years too late to steal its last vestiges.”

“So, says our forever bachelor, desperately hanging on to his own,” said Blaise, leaning against the doorframe.  “At least Theo and I made a go at being adults and settling down.  What’s your excuse for not even trying?”

“A healthy amount of self-preservation,” Draco said, without missing a beat.

Blaise narrowed his eyes and tossed his towel over Draco’s head.  “If you have as much of that as you say, then hurry up and change into your swim gear.  Meet us at the pool area in ten minutes,” he said, adding, “or else.”

~’~o~’~

Despite Blaise’s threat, Draco took his time unpacking.  The sun grazed the horizon by the time he made his way to the pool deck. 

Theo balanced on a surf board at the ship’s aft.  He bobbed up and down before he leaned too far left.  His feet lost grip of the surf board, and a wave tossed him in the water.  He broke the surface moments later, sputtering and laughing.

Blaise sat at the bar on the other side of a lazy lagoon, chatting up two women who looked to be no older than twenty.  Draco started over to verify ages and make sure his friend didn’t run into any trouble.  As he walked by the main pool, a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

She pulled herself out of the pool, and rivulets of water flowed over her caramel skin.   Her glow contrasted the stark white bikini that clung to her generous curves like plaster.  Her hair, still obviously curly despite being heavy with water, adhered to her shoulders and stopped just above two thin strings tied at her back.

It wasn’t her alluring form that caused him to freeze mid-stride.  It wasn’t the hypnotizing sway of her hips as she walked to her chaise lounge, nor the miniature bikini that Blaise would have approved. 

As she came out of the water, like Aphrodite rising from the sea foam, he glimpsed her familiar profile:  long, dark lashes that fringed even darker eyes; a slightly upturned nose; full, rhubarb-tinted lips; and a dainty chin that he was used to seeing turned up in defiance.

“Granger?” he called out, as he veered off his path to where she was toweling off by the side of the pool.

Draco walked between the chaise lounges clustered around the perimeter of the main pool.  A gaggle of young women in bikinis and sarongs, at the center of which was a pretty blonde with a sparkly sash that said “BRIDE,” barreled carelessly in his way.  He sidestepped to prevent a collision, and he trod on the toe of a leather shoe.  He lifted his eyes to a muscled man in a three-piece charcoal suit standing at the edge of the pool.

“Sorry,” Draco muttered.  The man pressed his lips in a firm line but didn’t respond.  Instead, he shifted his face away and pressed the fingers of his right hand to his ear. 

Draco continued to the woman he thought he recognized.  Her back was turned to him, so once he got close enough to be in earshot, he repeated, “Granger?”

As she ran a towel through her damp hair, she stiffened at the sound of his voice.  She slowly pivoted in place until her eyes met his.

“Draco?” she asked, sounding incredulous. 

He chuckled.  “Of all the cruise ships, on all the seas, in all the world, Granger.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose halfway up her forehead.  “I don’t know what’s stranger: you, being here right now, or you clearly referencing _Casablanca_.”

“What’s wrong with _Casablanca_?” he asked, truly confused.

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” she said.  “It’s just – you know – a _Muggle_ thing, films –”

He made his annoyance clear on his face.  “And just because I’m a—” he glanced around, then hissed the next word quietly, “ _Pureblood_ , I’m not allowed to appreciate this form of Muggle art?”

“No, I’m saying that as a _Malfoy_ ,” she emphasized the word by raising her voice, “I find it hard to believe that you’ve watched a Muggle film.  How did you even watch it?  It’s an old film, so you would have had to get your hands on a DVD or a device to stream it.  Last I checked, you stayed away from Muggle tech like the bubonic plague.”

“First, Wizarding London was hit hard by the bubonic plague, so the amount of fear I have for contracting it is appropriate,” he said, his voice swimming in sarcasm, “Second, I’ve grown to have a profound appreciation for films, as it’s – _ugh_ –"  Draco groaned and rubbed a hand over his face twice before pinning her with a glare.  “Bloody hell, Granger,” he said.  “I haven’t seen you in – what, twelve years?  And, within the first thirty seconds of our conversation, you’re already hassling me for –”

Her eyes broke contact with his as they shifted to something over his left shoulder.  He released a short, impatient huff and threw his arms in the air.

“You know what?  Forget it,” he said.  He turned to stalk off, but she caught him by the elbow.

“Wait!” she said.  “Why _did_ you come over to talk to me?”

He lifted a single shoulder in a careless shrug.  “Just wanted to make sure it was really you, I suppose.”

She jutted her chin out, almost imperceptibly.  “And, now that you know?”

“Then I know to stay the hell away,” he said.  

He stomped back to the penthouse suite, neglecting his friends on the pool deck.  Once there, he rang up Jacobson to bring him the most expensive bottle of whiskey on the ship.

~’~o~’~

“You have to get out of here, mate,” said Blaise. 

He sat with Draco near one end of their long table, eating croque monsieur their chef made for lunch.  Theo had left early in the morning to participate in the shuffleboard tournament, excited to showcase his prowess and eager to claim the top prize.  With his toughest competition being a rheumy-eyed, eighty-year-old retiree, he was energized by the prospect of taking home the gold trophy.

“It’s our third day aboard, and you haven’t left this cabin,” Blaise continued.  “I know you don’t want to mingle with the plebs, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Draco considered what he should reveal to his friend.  Finally, he said, “I did leave the suite.  First day on the ship, I went to find you and Theo by the pool.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow and flapped his hand in a gesture to hurry his explanation. 

“I saw Hermione Granger.”

His friend’s jaw went slack.  “Granger?  She’s here?”

Draco nodded once.  Blaise stared at him for another moment before exploding into an unkind guffaw.

When he eventually calmed down, he asked, “And, how is your old Auror partner?”

“How the hell should I know?” asked Draco, his voice gruff and flat.  “I couldn’t even stomach a full minute of conversation with her.  Not exactly enough time to catch up on over a decade’s worth of pleasantries.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t noticed her on board,” said Blaise.  “I usually have a sixth sense when it comes to beautiful, sexy women.  Or has time been cruel to her?  Is she a complete munter now?”

Draco released an irritated sigh and threw his friend an exasperated look.  “No,” he said, as he stabbed a knife into his sandwich.  “She looks exactly the same.”

Blaise blew a low whistle.  “I can’t believe I haven’t bumped into her yet.  Maybe I should do a lap around the ship.  Where did you say you saw her?”

Draco pursed his lips, but before he could decide whether to reply, Theo came in through the double doors.  His head was bowed, and his shoulders, slumped.  He shuffled to an empty seat next to Blaise and slammed a small, silver trophy on the table.

~’~o~’~

Draco hid by the statue of Poseidon sitting on a rock, manspreading, with both hands wrapped around the shaft of the Trident between his legs.  It was the most tasteful piece of decoration in the ballroom.

The capacious rectangular room held canape tables along one side, a jazz band on the other, and a large dancefloor in between.  He lost Blaise and Theo almost immediately upon entering the room; Theo, to the ship’s dance instructor offering swing lessons, and Blaise to the redhead with the backless dress by the chocolate fountain. 

Draco stared at Poseidon’s stony mien and saluted him with his glass before draining the martini in a single gulp.

“Are you really hitting on _that_ Poseidon?”  He felt her presence behind him.  He turned around and imitated his statue friend’s expression.  “Because I think the one over _there_ would be more to your taste.”  She pointed to the sculpture at the opposite corner, where Poseidon lied on his belly, perched on his elbows as he gazed up in wonder.

Draco snorted. 

They stood side by side, watching guests sway on the dance floor and mingle around the room.

“What do you want, Granger?” he asked, after a few minutes of silence.

She turned to face him.  “I wanted to apologize.  For what happened at the pool.  I just – it took me by surprise, seeing you—”

He waved her off with one hand while he flagged down a waiter to get another glass of martini.  He felt the heat of her glare as he deposited his empty glass and picked up a full one.

“That’s your fifth one since you got here,” said Hermione, and he felt vindicated when he heard the annoyance in her voice.  “You’ve only been here for twenty minutes, Draco.  You may want to pace yourself.”

Draco met her eyes in challenge.  “You’re not my keeper, Granger.”

He heard her blow a gust of breath as he brought the glass up to his lips.  They stood in silence, watching the crowd, as the band finished a fast-paced song and slip into one with a slower tempo.

As the saxophone belted out the first strains of “At Last,” Hermione turned to him and held out a hand.

“Dance with me,” she said.

He glowered at her offered hand for a few bars of music before bringing his gaze to her face.  The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile, but her eyes were strained, as if she was afraid of –expecting—rejection.

Draco was tempted to let her hand hang in the air, rebuffed.  Instead, he knocked back the rest of his drink, grabbed her hand, and led them to the edge of the dance floor.

He placed his right hand in the middle of her back, her skin exposed in the diamond cut-out of her violet dress.  She placed her hand in his left one, and they started swaying to the beat of the music.

“How are you, Draco?”

His lips pressed in a stern line, and he couldn’t think of how to reply.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying a different tack.

It was an easier question to answer, by far.  “Today is the second of May.”

She nodded, and then understanding flooded her eyes.  “Is it still that bad?  Even now?”

Draco scoffed.  “No matter how much time passes, no matter what Theo, Blaise, and I – what any of us with a previous connection to Voldemort – have done to make amends, come every May second, we’re all just Death Eaters.  No one’s likely to forget.  Nor let us forget it.”

“We still hate it, too – Harry, Ron, and I.  The Weasleys lost Fred on this day.  Ginny tells me that Harry still has night terrors about facing down Voldemort.  And, yet, the people insist that we go out each anniversary and _celebrate_ with parades and parties and triumphant speeches.  When all we want to do is hide our wounds and try to move on.”

“At least, you haven’t been subjected to celebrations since you left England all those years ago,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into his tone.

She gave him a wry smile.  “True.  I always get Howlers from Harry and Ron around this time, for letting them take the brunt of the attention at home while I’m, as they say, ‘hiding away in America.’”

The conversation paused for a moment.  “You’re still working for the MACUSA?” he asked.

Hermione glanced around their vicinity before nodding her head once.

“What about you?  I heard you left the Auror department not long after I was gone.  What have you been doing since then?”

Again, he didn’t deign a reply.

Hermione shook her head, disappointment and sadness warring on her face, and changed back to their previous topic.  “So, you and the boys still go out of the country for every anniversary?”

“To wherever we aren’t recognized, to where this—” he pointed his gaze to his upturned left arm, where his Dark Mark lay covered under his tuxedo, “is nothing but a bad tattoo.”

Her hands drifted down from his grasp to touch his sleeve.  “You’re much more than this Mark, Draco.”

He stopped swaying, and she followed suit.  “I believed that, once,” he said gruffly.

Draco held her gaze, her expression filled with something akin to guilt.  Hermione stepped back, as if pushed by an unseen force.

Her eyes darted around the room.  “I – I’ve got to go,” she stammered.

He chuckled mirthlessly.  “Of course, you do.”

Hermione threw him a disgruntled look, and she strode away.  The sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floor seemed to overpower the music as she headed for the door.

~’~o~’~

Draco left the ballroom not long after their encounter.  For a time, he walked along the perimeter of the entertainment deck, staring out to the void beyond the bright lights of the ship.  He filled his lungs with tangy, ocean-flavored air.

When he grew tired of wandering around, he went back to the suite, determined to diminish their store of liquor until sleep overtook him. 

The doors of his lift slid open, and he saw Hermione standing in his hallway.  Something in his chest twisted and fluttered.

“What are you doing here, Granger?”

Her eyes were wide, and her lips formed a small, perfect circle. 

He approached her, his steps slowed by hesitation.  Draco arched an eyebrow in question, and Hermione stuttered.

“Draco! I’m – I –” she stepped closer to him, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

Another ding of the lift echoed in the hall, and it was the last sensation he registered as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him flush against her.

His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his chest as she brought his head down and kissed him.  He felt thrown out of his own body at the feel of her lips, soft and luscious and just as delectable as he remembered.

When his mind finally caught up to the developing events, he found his body had already gone ahead without him.  His arms had snaked around her waist, his fingers eager to feel the exposed skin of her back.  His lips pressed against hers keenly, and his tongue greeted hers with fervent enthusiasm.  His eyes were closed by this time, so it was only his ears that picked up the shuffling of feet as people passed them in the hallway.

“Get a room,” a deep voice sneered.  A few seconds later, he heard a door close and lock, and they were once again alone in the hallway.

Hermione broke their kiss and leaned her head away.  He could see the whites of her eyes around her irises, and she was panting like she had just run a lap around the entire ship.  Her fingers clutched at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, and she didn’t pull away from his arms that were coiled around her.

Draco’s breathing had sped up to match hers.  His gaze traveled from her eyes, to her reddened cheeks, and to her swollen lips.  Then, he looked pointedly to the double doors, where a king-sized bed beckoned from the master bedroom.

“Do you – do you want to –” he said between gulps of air.

She nodded, a movement almost violent in her eagerness to comply.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside.  He captured her lips as she stepped over the threshold.  Closing the door and pressing her against it, he ran his hands from her shoulders, down her arms, and to her hips.  He caressed the swell of her arse before planting his palms at the backs of her thighs, lifting her up. 

Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips, and he stumbled into his room with her writhing in his arms.  It was dark, save for the glow of lights from the decks below, but he hadn’t noticed.  His half-lidded eyes were focused on Hermione – her bee-stung lips, the hunger in her eyes, and that goddamned hair that had long escaped its elegant bun.  He’d been tormented with dreams of running his fingers through that hair for the past decade.

When they were safely in the room, he set her feet on the floor and busied himself with the buttons between her shoulder blades. 

She worked her fingers along the front of his dress shirt, but after she struggled to free the third button, she grunted against his mouth.  Putting a hand on each of his collars, she yanked at the fabric.  Buttons clattered on the wooden floor.  He growled in response, and jerked at the back of her dress, doing her the same courtesy.

Hermione pushed the shirt and jacket off his shoulders as he walked her to the edge of the bed.  He pulled her dress down to her elbows, and she pushed the violet fabric over her curves and stepped out of it.

When the backs of her knees met the bed, she slid onto the silk covers.  She leaned back on his bed, bathed in the soft, yellow glow of the ambient light with nothing on but her lacy black knickers; his breath hitched at the sight.  It was too surreal, too dreamlike – too torturous.

“Granger,” he said, his voice aberrant and unsure.

Hermione sat up, her lips parted and eyes gentle and understanding.  She reached up and pressed her palm on his cheek.  He placed his hand on hers, and their eyes spoke when their words failed them.

She slid her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down for another heated kiss, and he settled his weight on the mattress in the space between her legs.

~’~o~’~

It was hours later when he was lying down, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, that he felt her leave the bed.

She moved gingerly, as if trying not to disturb him.  Draco felt embittered with disappointment that she would sneak out of his bed in the middle of the night, like he was some stranger caught up in her drunken mistake.

He cracked his eyes open, careful to keep his muscles from tensing and giving away his now alert state.  As he observed her move about, suspicion gnawed at the back of his mind.

She didn’t stumble about the room, fumbling with her clothes in the dark, shoulder slumped over in remorse.  She didn’t act like a woman who had a night of drunken, regretful sex.  Rather, she found her violet dress on the floor where she had stepped out of it and located her wand in the dark with ease.  Her movements were deliberate and sure, and Draco recognized it instantly – this was Hermione on a mission.

When the door closed silently behind her, Draco reached over to the night stand, where he placed his wand, and performed a quick silencing spell over himself.  He threw on his black dress pants and stalked out of the room, barefooted.

The living room was dim, save for the light filtering through the window and the sliver that spilled from the hallway as Hermione peered through a crack between the doors.

He took his silencing charm off.

“What are you doing, Granger?” he asked.

To anyone else, she would have looked relaxed as she turned to face him, clicking the door shut.  Draco could see, however, the tense set of her shoulders and the rotation of her wrists to a defensive position, a sign that he had taken her by surprise.

“I was just looking to see if anyone was out in the hallway,” she said.  “The button on the back of my dress is broken, so I would hate to run into anyone–”

Draco held up a palm.  He glared at her, but he doubted she could see his face with the light coming from behind him.

“We were partners for eight years.  Please don’t try to bullshit me, because I know how you look when you lie,” he said.  “What are you doing?”

They stared at each other, willing for the other to back down.

Hermione blew a breath through clenched teeth and walked to the middle of the living room, while still giving him a wide berth.  “The man in the suite across from here,” she said.  “His name is Vincenzo Gronchi, one of MACUSA’s most wanted men.  He’s at the top of a crime family I’ve been assigned for recon and surveillance.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed softly at his stupidity.  “And you were up here for _him_.  To case his suite.  Not for me.”

Hermione looked at him intently, saying nothing.  He thought back to their kiss in the hallway – and how quite suddenly she had grabbed him and made him take leave of his senses, right as they were about to have company – and growled at a sudden realization.

“Damn it, Granger,” he said.  “You kissed me as a fucking _cover_?”

She looked at a spot on the floor to her left.  It was hard to see in the dim lighting, but Draco briefly wondered if she had the grace to blush at her manipulations.

“Gronchi’s guards were coming out of the lift, and I couldn’t have them recognize me,” she said.  “One of them, I think, has already noted that I’m around their boss quite often.”

“And you – you –” he said, his mouth unwilling to articulate what he was thinking, and he gestured in the air between them, “With _me_ , so – you could have easier access to his suite in the dead of night?”

She gawked at him, her jaw hanging open at the implication.  “No!” she said.  “I may have kissed you to keep from being made, but that’s not why I had sex with you!”

He stood with his back straight, arms folded across his chest, daring her to give him a damned good excuse.  Hermione walked over and placed her palms against his chest.

“I had sex with you because—” she faltered, “—because I _wanted_ to.  Because you kissed me back, and I nearly lost my mind with wanting.  And I – _damn it_ , Draco! – I did it because I missed you!  I forgot how much I missed you.”

Draco felt his lips morph into an ugly twist, and he wrapped a hand around each of her wrists.  “You missed me?” he said, his voice dangerously low.  “You had twelve years to get back to me.”  He tossed her hands off his chest and took a few steps back to keep out of her reach.

She lowered her gaze to the floor, and, when she spoke, her voice was deep with raw emotion.  “When I left for America, I tried to put you out of my mind.  I – I _forced_ myself not to think of you.”

He scoffed.  “It must not have cost you that much effort.”

She brought her eyes up to meet his, and they were dark and hard as granite.  “You don’t know how painful it was to move away and try to forget about you.  It was so hard – so lonely – “

“ _You_ were lonely?” he asked.  “You’re the one who left!  You could have come back at any time, so don’t you fucking tell me that you were _lonely_ —”

“I left for you—”

“You left because you fucking wanted to—”

“—because you wanted a family, and kids running round the Manor, and a safe desk job in an office, and it wasn’t – _isn’t_ something I want, maybe not ever –”

“—and you just decided to be a selfish coward.  So, you ran away –”

“ _Selfish_?” said Hermione, her face the very picture of disbelief.  “You’re saying that just because I don’t want to be married and sprogged up, that makes me selfish?”

“Of course not,” he spat.  “But, you left me without even discussing anything.  Without communicating the obviously wrong assumptions you had been making about what I want.”

“You _said_ you’ve always dreamed of getting married and having kids!  I left so you could have a chance to find someone who wanted the same things as you – to give you a family of your own.”

“I’ve always thought about having a wife and kids in the same way people think that one day they’ll graduate Hogwarts and get a Ministry job,” he said.  “It was something that I thought was another of life’s milestones you just do. 

But I didn’t start wanting a _family_ until you came along.  I wanted one with you, in whatever shape or form it may have come.  Marriage and children didn’t have to be part of the deal.  But you got spooked when we started talking about the future, and instead of telling me what was going through your head, you made the decision for the both us by leaving.”

 “I thought I was doing the noble thing by stepping aside,” she said.  “I didn’t want you to resent me for keeping you from what you’ve always wanted.  I thought that you would be happier in the long run if let you go.”

Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping over with the weight of her abandonment he long thought had been put to rest.  He met her gaze, and even in the near darkness, he thought she could see the misery sure to be etched on his face.

She stepped toward him, arms stretched out as if to hold him.  He stepped back to keep his distance.

“You need to go, Granger,” he said.

“Draco—”

“No,” he said.  “Twelve years ago, you didn’t give me a chance to beg you to stay.  Now, I’m making the choice to tell you to leave.”

He noticed a watery sheen over her eyes, but, after a moment, she nodded.  She walked out of the room, the bright light from the hallway blinding him as she left through the door.  It clicked softly behind her.

Draco remained fixed in place, staring at the spot where she had stood.  After a few moments, he turned to head to the bar for something strong to drink when a shadow standing in the kitchen made him yelp.

“Nott?!”

Theo stepped into the light streaming from a window, a half-eaten carton in one hand and a spoon dripping in melted chocolate ice cream in another.

“Erm – hey, mate,” he said, as he held his midnight snack out to Draco.

~’~o~’~

“Why didn’t you ever tell us?” asked Blaise.

He had stumbled into the suite only minutes after Hermione left.  Draco had poured a glass of the nearest liquor and downed it, as Theo briefly caught Blaise up on the night’s events.

They now sat at the wet bar, with Theo playing bartender behind the counter.  Blaise was poised on a stool, holding a tumbler of the Firewhiskey they snuck onboard.  He faced Draco, who had his elbows on the bar and was nursing whatever strong concoction Theo had placed in front of him.

“We all thought you were just partners,” said Theo.  “I mean, sure, _everyone_ noticed that you were attracted to each other, with the amount of eye-fucking between you.  And, yeah, you seemed to get along really well, and you were always happy when she was around.  And, when she left, you became all moody and depressed, and you were never interested in a serious relationship, and oh, dear _Merlin_ , we are _terrible_ friends.”

Draco chuckled, but it was a hollow sound.  “Since we were still partners at the Auror Department, we kept the relationship to ourselves to keep from being reassigned.  We were – _together_ —for a little over a year.  Not very long.”

“Long enough to fuck you up, it seems,” said Blaise, the sympathy in his voice cutting through his harsh words.  He placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder.  “Sorry, mate.  If I’d known –”

Draco waved him off.  They drank in silence for a few more minutes.

“So, what are you going to do?” asked Theo.

He shrugged and stared at the brown liquid in front him.  “What is there to do?  After this trip, I go back to Wiltshire, and she goes back to wherever the hell she’s been for the last dozen years.  Nothing’s going to change.”

~’~o~’~

Draco didn’t leave the suite the next day, opting instead to clean out the bar.  This was also on his itinerary the following day, as Jacobson had the liquor restocked overnight, but his friends intervened.

“Let’s go,” said Theo, as he pulled Draco into the bathroom to urge him to groom.  He laid out Draco’s toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, and shaving supplies along the counter.  “We’re nearing the end of this trip, and you haven’t done anything at all.  You’re going to go outside, take in some sun and get some fresh air.  Maybe even a game or two.  Fancy a bout of tennis?”

Theo squeezed the minty paste on his brush and held it out in front of him.  “Come on.  What do you say, mate?”

He stared at his friend for a moment before plucking the toothbrush out of his hand.  It earned him a hearty slap on the back. 

“Good!” said Theo.  “Blaise and I will be waiting for you in the living room.   So, hurry up, and for fuck’s sake, take a shower, will you?  You smell like a corpse drowned in a casket of whiskey.”

~’~o~’~

The three of them leaned against the rails of the entertainment deck, watching the crowd mill below.  They took an early lunch to avoid large crowds, and they had been wandering the ship ever since, walking off the post-buffet bloat.  This was the case, at least, for Blaise and Theo; Draco’s appetite, however, had not yet resurfaced.

He felt the tension in his neck and shoulders as he raked his eyes through the crowd.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he ran into Hermione in public.

As they spent the rest of the day roving the ship – and stopping whenever an activity caught Theo’s attention or Blaise was distracted by an attractive woman passing by – Draco felt the tightness of his muscles ease.  There hadn’t been any awkward run-ins with his ex; no zooming into the nearest corridor to avoid a confrontation nor diving into stores to hide.  As evening approached, Draco let his guard down.  He hadn’t really expected to run into Hermione – the cruise liner was the size of a small town – but he was glad to avoid her, nonetheless. 

Blaise and Theo opted to go to the nightclub after dinner, and Draco begged off, citing a lingering hangover.

When he approached the door on their floor, the sound of a deep voice raised in panic or anger reverberated from the neighboring suite.

The voice was muffled by the walls.  Draco couldn’t pick out any of what was being said, until the voice grew even louder, and he heard, “— _fucking MACUSA bitch—_ ”

Draco felt a chill run up the back of his neck.  He whipped out his wand and hurried to the door – Gronchi’s door – which was devoid of its usual security detail.  He pressed his ear against the wood.

“ _Find her!  Since you fuckers are too damned stupid to figure out how to take down the anti-Disapparition charm she put on the entire ship, you better find her.  Make her take it down, because we’re sitting ducks on the literal fucking water!_ ”

Glass broke somewhere inside Gronchi’s suite, and a shuffling of feet scurried to the door.  Draco backed away, intending to dive into his own cabin, when his back hit a wall of hard muscle.

As Draco froze in place, he felt the sharp end of a wand jam under his right jaw; then, his world went dark.

~’~o~’~

He was immediately awake, which only meant that he was spelled to be so.  He had been placed on a chair, held upright by rope coiled around his torso.  A burly man in a dark grey suit – the one he had run into that first day by the pool – towered over him, his wand pointed at Draco’s temple.

“Who do you work for?” he asked.

Draco leveled him with a steady gaze.  “I work for myself.  See, I like being my own boss.  I’d hate to be someone else’s bitch.  Don’t you ever tire of it?”

The burly man answered him with a fist to his left cheekbone.

“Who do you work for?” he repeated.

“I told you,” Draco said, trying not to hiss at the stinging of his cheek.  “I don’t work for anybody.  I run my own company, and it’s quite successful.  I even run my own charity foundation; I believe in giving back to the community, you know –”

His quip earned him another punch, this time on his mouth.  The impact caused his teeth to cut into the inside of his lips, and he could taste the metallic gush of fluid on his tongue.

“Quit your fucking around,” the man said, “and tell me who sent you to spy on us.”

Draco spit up blood on the white carpet under his feet.  As the fluid dripped from the corner of his lips, he said, “I’ve already told you!  You need to stop hitting me, because how the fuck am I going to explain my busted face when I talk to the orphans that my foundation sponsors?”

His interrogator grasped a clump of his hair and pulled his head back.  He leaned in, mere centimeters from Draco’s face, filling his field of vision.  “Are you working for the MACUSA?  Working with that brown-haired cunt who put the ward to keep us from leaving the ship?  Tell me where that fucking bitch is!”

“That bitch is right here,” said a voice from behind the large man.  Startled, the man let go of his grip on Draco’s hair.  Before he could turn around, the man quite literally froze, and he toppled to the floor like one of Poseidon’s statues.

Hermione stood above him, dressed in black with her wand pointed down at the petrified man.  She looked up at Draco and brought her wand up to his chest, slicing the rope that tied him to the chair.  Beyond her, he saw the hallway from the open double doors, and three pairs of legs sprawled stiffly and lifelessly on the ground.

“Had your fun with _Petrificus Totalus_?” he asked, as he shimmied out of the ropes.  He bent down to the man who collapsed at his feet and searched his pockets, hoping to find his wand. 

“We need to hurry,” said Hermione, who turned to face the door with her wand held out.  “One of them called for reinforcements before I could take him down.  There are at least eight more of Gronchi’s guards on this ship, and I’m not keen to get in a wand fight with all of them at once.”

Draco sighed with relief as his fingers closed around the familiar handle of his hawthorn inside the thug’s jacket.  He straightened and said, “All right, let’s go—”

The sound of a spell whizzed past his ear and tore a hole through the baby grand piano behind him.  Several men hustled into the room, throwing curses with abandon.

Together, Draco and Hermione ran to the bar across the room and took cover behind the counter.  They popped their heads over the surface, firing spells at the newcomers while dodging hexes sent their way.

“Fuck!” Draco said, as a cutting hex grazed his wand hand.  “I know this is your day job, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a wand fight, Granger.”

“I’ve sent word to my team for backup,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she aimed for the goon hiding behind the ivory couch.  “I activated my emergency beacon when I got to the room, so they should Portkey in here any—”

A sudden clamor from Gronchi’s guards heralded her team’s arrival.  The sounds of wand fire escalated for a few, chaotic moments; then, it suddenly stopped, the silence broken only by soft groans and whimpers of pain. 

Draco and Hermione gingerly stood up from their hiding place.  A dozen men and women in official MACUSA Auror tactical gear saluted Hermione, before turning their attention to their charges on the ground.

~’~o~’~

“Ow!” Draco said, as Hermione rubbed the healing salve on his cheek.

The two of them sat on Draco’s couch as Hermione’s Aurors guarded Gronchi and his men across the hall and took inventory of the ledgers he kept of his illegal trade.

“It’s just a tiny cut, Draco,” she said.  “Honestly, you can barely see anything on your face.”

“Just make sure to cover it with the salve.  I don’t want to take a chance on it scarring,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  “Are you just being vain, or is there someone you’re trying to impress?”

Hermione stiffened for a moment, halting her ministrations on his wounded cheek, as she realized what she just said.  Draco shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable and unable to look her in the eye.

She cleared her throat and said, “Is it true that you run a charity foundation now?  Or were you just trying to get under that arsehole’s skin?”

Draco nodded.  “After I left the Auror department, I took control of Malfoy Corporation from the board.  It was good timing, too, as my father had assigned the most incompetent executives to run the company.  It had been in the red for years and was on the brink of collapse.  When the company started turning a profit, I was able to start the Malfoy Foundation.”

She smiled.  “The orphans?”

“War orphans,” he said.  “By the time the foundation was up and running, most of them were already at Hogwarts.  So, we paid for their board and education and made sure they had a place to stay in between terms.  We’ve since opened our roster to all orphans and foster children.”

Hermione’s smile grew even brighter.  He started to respond with a smile of his own, until he remembered their last conversation in this very room.  He tore his gaze away from her.

“How did you know I was in there?” he asked.

“I bugged the suite when Gronchi was at the ball.  I had just finished when –” she wavered, “—when we ran into each other.”

“Right,” he mumbled, and he stood abruptly.  “Well, thanks for the save, Granger.  Appreciate it.”  He walked to the door and held it open, waiting for her to acknowledge his silent demand.

She shuffled to the door but stopped before stepping out into the hallway.  “My team is going to Portkey Gronchi and his men off the ship, but I’ll be staying on until the last port to clean up the site.”

He didn’t respond, so she continued.  “If you want to talk, you can find me in room eleven-twenty-six.”

Hermione walked out, and he shut the door behind her.

~’~o~’~

During the last full day on the ship, Draco couldn’t concentrate.  The series of numbers cycled through his head as he ate his breakfast and got ready for the day; as he accompanied Blaise at the tiki bar by the pool in the afternoon; as he joined Theo to watch a play in the evening.

By late night, he wandered through the corridors that housed the staterooms, searching for the numbers that haunted him all day.

Finally, he saw it: Room 1126.  He took a deep breath and raised his fist to rap on the door.

Hermione opened it on the third knock, and they stared at each other.  She looked as if she didn’t believe he was there, standing at her door; he didn’t quite believe it, himself.  Then, she took a step back and he followed her into the room.

Despite her invitation to talk, they didn’t do much of that during the night.  The use of words was never their strong suit – at least, when it came to their relationship. 

Instead, they let their eyes express their sorrow and regret at past mistakes.  They let their lips, pressed hotly against each other’s skin, silently ask for forgiveness and, in turn, give clemency.  They let their hands, which roamed over the curves and planes of the other’s body, convey how much they still adore one another.

In the early morning hours, as their minds drifted from exhaustion and elation, they clung onto each other, imparting a desperate kind of hope that maybe, when they wake from their slumber, they can still find a way back into each other’s lives.

~’~o~’~

The crowds were just as eager to get off the ship as they were to get on just a week prior.  The novelty of the cruise had worn off, and the excitement to disembark from their self-imposed floating prison was high.

Draco stood on the deck near the main exit of the gaudy atrium.  His friends had gone ahead to the international Portkey terminal, knowing to give him space.

He looked out over the rails at the water gently lapping the sides of the ship.

“Don’t jump,” she said, as she leaned on the rail next to him.

“And ruin this suit?  Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, and he gave her a hesitant smile.

Hermione glanced around.  “Where are the boys?”

“At the Portkey point,” he said.

“You’re all headed back to England?”

He nodded, and his smile fell from his face.  “Real life awaits,” he said.  “What about you?  Back to America?”

“For now,” she said.  “They’ll need me to wrap up this case.  Most likely testify at the trial when the time comes.”

“Right,” he said, softly.  They stood gazing at each other for another moment, before he said, “I better go.  Our Portkey is on a timer—”

“Of course,” she said.

Draco nodded.  He turned on his heel and started marching toward the gangway.

After several steps, he heard her yell, “Draco!”  He hurried back to where she remained standing. 

“I’ve racked up some vacation time over the years,” she said.  “A _lot_ of vacation time, really.  So, I was wondering—”

“Yes?”

“Er—well—this ship is scheduled for another cruise in two weeks.  Would you – would you like to—”

“I’ll be here,” he said.

Her face shone with relief and joy.  “Good.  I’ll see you here.  Until then,” she said, while giving him a wry smile, “’kiss me, as if it were the last time?’”

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.  “There’ll never be a ‘last time’ between us, Granger,” he said, as he pressed his forehead against hers.  “So, I wouldn’t know how.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! And, thanks to the Dramione FanFiction Forum for hosting this great fest! Last, but not least, beta love to fangirlsanity :) 
> 
> Casablanca quotes:  
> Rick: Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.  
> Ilsa: Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.


End file.
